Awake
by Eet
Summary: Niele, a fairy, needs to find a prince. But he's not for her. No, he's for her best friend, a princess cursed to sleep forever. Too bad the prince has other things in mind. A unique retelling of Sleeping Beauty.
1. Chapter 1

Once upon a time there was a princess who fell into an enchanted, eternal sleep, a sleep that could only be broken by love's kiss.

This is a story told countless times through countless generations, changed by time and perceptions. Stripped to its bare bones of a beautiful girl, her handsome prince, a wicked witch, and the power of magic. Naturally, the storytellers left out the finer details that might have went over the heads of their audiences, such as the politics behind the curse of the wicked witch, or what truly drove the handsome prince to such great lengths to save a princess whom he barely knew, save through the legends and myth he was told. Most lamentably of all, the storytellers forgot the princess, the most important character of their tale. Her body is always present in the stories, true, her form. But as the years passed, and the roles of women dwindled down to little more than mother and housewife, the princess became little more than a beautiful, empty shell.

What the storytellers never fail to forget is the happy ending. Happily ever after, for the princess and the prince and their faithful fairies. An easy ending, a way to glean coins from an audience in order to buy bread and ale before a storyteller goes on to entertain the next village or castle.

Much easier of an ending than the true one.

Once upon a time there was a headstrong prince, a second son behind a dazzling older brother, who was compelled to achieve fame and glory through the most dangerous path open to him.

Once upon a time there was a fairy girl, a guardian of a sleeping princess, and her loyalty to her was such that she would sacrifice everything she had, or did not have, for the safety of her charge.

Once upon a time there was a princess, the sole heir to her kingdom, a kingdom she would do anything to protect. It was this, the witch foresaw, that would make her such a difficult enemy.

This is the tale of three very different people, for all that they shared the same destiny, and the same adversary.

I believe we shall start with the witch, the queen of a nation in her own right, for without her, this story would be over before it even started.

…..

Queen Melanthe of Althredra was quite an unusual height for a fairy. When standing up straight, as she usually did, even very tall men had to look up to her. Not that any man, no matter how tall, imposing, or courageous, would dare to ever look Melanthe in the eye.

The witch-queen knew her height would draw unwanted attention to her, so as she wormed her way through the throng of peasants and noblemen alike, she hunched her back over, so as to appear merely to be an old crone, hoping for just one glance of the baby princess. Of course, there were spells for such a thing, but, presently, magic was a precious commodity to Melanthe.

She had not used even the most simple explosion charm, storing up every tiny bit of magic within her, just for this day. It was threatening to brim over with every step she took, though one would only know it by glancing at her eyes, which glimmered an inky black. Melanthe kept her eyes downcast as she continued to the front of the enormous entrance hall.

There was magic in the very air she breathed in this room. No doubt, she thought, fairies from all across the realm of Dalthian had been recruited for the task of weaving spells for the new princess' name day. Some of the spells were based on notions of pure aesthetics, Melanthe noted, such as expanding the room to such a size that half of the subjects of the realm could fit into it easily, and still find ample space to breathe. Wide windows lined the marble walls, and through them streamed both sunlight and fresh air. It was a sweltering summer day, yet the palace was kept at a pleasantly cool temperature, again by magic.

Then there were the spells that were not so innocent, harder to detect, but there. Strong protective wards against any sort of black magic, or those who might wield it. Namely, those practitioners of the art of dark spells, Melanthe's own small army of witch-fairies.

Melanthe herself smirked. Naturally, the foolish rulers of Dalthian and their protectors would expect such an attack, and know how to defend against it. A quick assassination of Dalthian's only heir would be an easy victory for Althredra, a victory that would cripple the Dalthian monarchs and people alike, and make them vastly more conquerable. That was what Melanthe wanted more than anything else in the world: to eradicate the nation of Dalthian altogether, and then the isle that the two countries had always shared, split right down the middle, would be all one Althredra. A strong Althredra, presided over by Queen Melanthe, would soon be a threat to all those other kingdoms on the mainland that she had her eyes upon taking.

These fantastical dreams ran through Melanthe's head as she pushed past the dark magic wards with ease, ignoring them as if they were no different than any other bit of air within the hall. And to her, indeed, they were not. The spells had obviously been created by fairies that were skilled in performing defensive magic, and they would have repelled even the general of Melanthe's army of witch-fairies. However, none had been prepared for one of Melanthe's level of power. Why would they? There was no reason that the queen of Althredra herself should come to attempt an assassination, for she was busy running her own country's affairs, wasn't she? Sending an assassin was a certainty, but never the queen. Such a possibility had not even passed through any of the minds of Dalthian, had it?

Even if it had, there was nothing to be done. A spell to stop a fairy, or outwit any of that fairy's magic, must be created by a fairy stronger than the fairy one wants to ward against. And no fairy, on the isle or the mainland, was more powerful than Melanthe. After all, did it not take a master of magic to defeat an entire nation, and then to assume rule over it? That was why nations were run by mortal kings and queens and their councils. A fairy might advise a ruling family, but never have a throne for themselves. Except for Althredra, which had been conquered by Melanthe's ancestors centuries long ago. She was descended from the most powerful witch-fairies ever known, and she was just as strong as they had been. No one could match her.

Her smirk grew wider, in equal parts pride and evil intent. Thinking about her considerable prowess always made her happy, as did plotting against those she detested. The expression on her face darkened as she let her mind wander back to this same day, one year ago exactly, when Melanthe had the premonition that led her to this task.

_There was a beautiful woman on a white horse. Curls of a dark golden hue fell below her shoulders, and her smile was the epitome of graciousness. A glittering silver tiara that sat atop her head denoted her as royalty, although that was perhaps the last clue that Melanthe noticed. What made it truly obvious was the way the people gravitated toward her, reaching out their hands for a single touch, or if they were lucky, a blessing, from their wonderful new queen. And this queen welcomed her new subjects with equal fervor, touching their hands as they wished, murmuring a few words of prayer over the head of a infant in its mother's arms._

_The new queen was riding through the capital city of this nation, to the palace at its center. There was a king, or a prince, who rode beside the queen, but he was negligent compared to her. He smiled above the heads of his new subjects, but his thoughts were elsewhere. What did it matter anyway? He was merely an accessory to the new sovereign._

_From the streets where the commoners were, and where the queen was being welcomed, one could see overtop the simple homes of the peasants, where the towers of the castle jutted into the sky, black against blue, spindly and twisted._

The sight of the castle, which was only hinted at by a mere outline, was what always shook Melanthe from the vision, howling in fury. For the castle, and the city and its people, they were all hers of course. It all belonged to her, except for the woman on the horse.

When ambassadors from Dalthian were sent to the furthest reaches of the world, and even next door to their deadliest enemy of Althredra, announcing that their most beloved queen had conceived of a child, Melanthe had known. It had been a feeling, nothing more than a shuddering jolt of knowledge, but a fairy's intuition should never be doubted.

Melanthe had finally squeezed through both crowd and wards alike, until she had reached the very front of the hall, though she took care to keep at least a few rows of people ahead of her, so that those upon the high terrace could not get a glimpse of her face. Until the time was right, she did not want to be recognized.

The murmurs and whispers of the swarm of Dalthian subjects fell to silence, as their king rose from his throne with his hands raised, and announced, "On our Princess Linnaea's name day, many of the fairies of the realm have been generous enough to present gifts to our daughter, and we request your patience as they do so. Afterwards, we may celebrate the birth of our heir with a feast!" He sat down again, a broad grin on his bearded face. He took the hand of his queen who sat in a matching throne beside him, and her smile mirrored his own. There was gray hair at both of their temples, betraying their age no matter how much youthful happiness they were filled with on this day. It had taken years of marriage to have an heir, and their subjects had all but given up on them to ever achieve it.

So Melanthe had already missed the official naming ceremony, but that was no great loss. It was a boring ritual; what everyone loved to see most was the gifts of the fairies, customary in all of the kingdoms ruled by mere mortals. The gifts were never objects, but bits of magic that lent towards the little prince or princess' future, and would mold them as they grew to adulthood.

A line of brightly clothed individuals lined the stage, dressed in all sorts of silks and finery enhanced by magic. The front of the line ended at the nondescript lace-covered cradle where the baby princess lay. From where she stood, Melanthe saw only a glimpse of pink within the cradle, though she knew it to be the princess' tiny face.

Beside the cradle sat a final fairy, and she kept one hand on it at all times, rocking the cradle back and forth gently. She was dressed in a plain gray gown with no magical properties whatsoever, and her brown hair was pulled up and away from a wan, pale face. There was a small smile there as well, but it could not mask her exhaustion.

_The fairy pet of the royal family_, Melanthe thought in disgust, although she also wondered what led the fairy to be so empty of magic. None of the spells Melanthe had come across so far belonged to her, that much she knew for certain. If they had been, Melanthe would have run into minor troubles, at the very least.

The tired fairy's other hand rested on the roundness of her own stomach, which caused Melanthe's sneer to turn into a frown. _She_ _is pregnant!_ For the first time in over nine months, Melanthe felt a shiver of self-doubt come over her. A female fairy wielded much more power if she was with child, although such a power was fleeting, and perhaps left its user weaker than before after giving birth. It was the one reason why Melanthe had as yet failed to give her kingdom an heir.

She shook herself out of her reverie. It was no matter. The pet fairy of Dalthian could have triplets in her belly for all Melanthe cared. She would always be stronger. With this thought giving her back her confidence, she refocused her attention onto the visiting fairies giving presents to their princess.

"I bestow upon the Princess Linnaea the gift of beauty," the first fairy proclaimed, waving her hands over the cradle in a demonstration of colorful sparks. A traditional gift for any offspring of royalty.

"I grant the Princess Linnaea the gift of fleetness of foot, so that she might be the most graceful dancer in the kingdom!"

And so they continued, the line of fairies dwindling down slowly, as each of them gave the most typical, superficial gifts any of them could imagine, coupled with a display of unnecessary magic for added effect. Spells could be cast invisibly, and this in fact took more consummate skill. However, every audience loves a show, and that was what the fairies would provide them.

Finally the last fairy gave his gift (musical talent with a lute, as nearly all the other good gifts had already been given), and the fairy sitting next to the cradle began to awkwardly get to her feet. Melanthe would not give her the chance to say whatever it was she was going to bequeath unto the princess, for now was finally her moment.

She flung her matted brown cloak off of her back and stood up straight, and suddenly Melanthe towered above everyone else in the audience. Her white-gold hair fell to her feet, shining brightly in the sunlight. The original plan was to create a thunderstorm outside at this very second, but, remembering the child in her rival's stomach, decided to conserve her magic.

Everyone in the audience turned to stare at her, the old crone who had seemed to simply morph into this thin-waisted enchantress. An overflow of dark magic made the air around her shimmer in a black fog matching her eyes. It was difficult to tell the difference between the magic that surrounded her and her own extravagant black gown that left little to the imagination.

The king and queen gasped when they recognized her, and the crowd followed suit, all gasping simultaneously. The queen started to stand, likely because of some protective mother instinct. Still weakened from childbirth though, it only took one step or her to faint into her husband's arms. The king glared at Melanthe, eyes wide with a combination of rage and horror, though she noted that he was still lost for words. Fear even flickered in the eyes of the solitary fairy, who was now standing protectively in front of the cradle.

"A party, and I wasn't invited?" Melanthe said, and her tone was delicate with mock surprise. Her voice was smooth and surprisingly deep for such a feminine figure. It echoed throughout the entire hall. She would not let anyone miss what was coming next. "Despite my own high degree of royalty, I have always possessed certain magical talents, as many of you may know. Perhaps I shall be the last one to bestow a gift upon the Princess Linnaea?"

The gray-clad fairy remained silent, but did not move from her place in front of the cradle. Her eyes met Melanthe's and she kept them there, locking gazes with her old enemy.

Melanthe approached the terrace, gliding up the steps to the cradle every so slowly, trying to make the suspense build as much as possible. Finally she was less than a foot away from the woman, and the cradle itself. She stared down at the both of them, forcing the fairy to look up to her.

"Hyacinth," she cooed. "My old friend. Surely you will step aside and allow me to present your charge with a gift of my own? It is clear that you do not have a drop of magic under your control, so diluted they are from whatever preparations you have made for this day. Come now, do not endanger your child in order to futilely try and save one that does not even belong to you."

Melanthe thought that nothing could surprise her, but when Hyacinth stepped a few paces to the left, giving her full access to the princess, her eyes widened. Hyacinth, whose eyes had not left Melanthe since she revealed herself, noticed this, and she silently hoped everything she had planned in case of such an emergency would not fail her now.

She watched as the witch-fairy raised a single white hand over the baby princess. Along with everyone else in the room, she knew what was coming, and braced herself for it.

"I, Queen Melanthe of Althredra, present the Princess Linnaea with an everlasting gift. An eternal sleep, in the form of _death_," she declared, with a particularly vicious emphasis on that final word. Then she enveloped the entire cradle in a glittering black fog, and cast a single, infinitely powerful death bolt, straight at the newborn princess.

The silence that followed this was deafening, only pierced seconds later by the solitary wail of an infant.

The fog instantly dissipated as Melanthe shrieked a ringing scream that made those nearby wince and put their hands over their ears.

"This is your doing!" she screeched, advancing on Hyacinth, who suddenly radiated with confidence.

She looked up at Melanthe, both hands on her stomach placidly. "Of course it was me who placed a spell of protection around the princess, one that you could neither see nor break through. Did you expect nothing less?" Her voice was quiet and calm.

"I may not have broken through your shield with my spell, but I have broken it!" Melanthe summoned up more magic within her, grasping at strands of it to fire off another death bolt. But it was not enough, and Hyacinth knew it. No longer was Melanthe glowing with dark magic, and her eyes had faded to a washed-out blue.

"You are as weakened as I am by your efforts," Hyacinth said. "Your bolt was not powerful enough to break through my shield, and now you have not enough magic left make even an attempt at death."

The audience seemed to move closer to the stage, desperately trying to catch every word that was exchanged, so that they might better understand the magic that had just occurred.

Melanthe's face broke into a wicked smile. "But I do know what I have enough magic left for, and what you are too weak to counteract."

"And what is that?"

"White magic has always been pathetic in undoing curses, hasn't it? And yet curses come so easily to one who is well-practiced in them, even with only scraps of magic at my disposal."

Hyacinth's hand clapped over her mouth in horror, and the audience gave a timely gasp.

Melanthe did not even have to look at the baby in the cradle to know what came next. "I curse the Princess Linnaea with death that shall come to her as she enters her seventeenth year…by pricking her finger upon the spindle of a spinning wheel," she added as an afterthought. _A decent curse, certainly creative enough_, she decided.

Nothing happened at that moment, as often does with curses. Melanthe did not have the magic to expend for showy side effects or more black fog. She simply smiled, and disappeared into nothingness with a snap of her fingers, using the easiest transportation spell she knew to return to her castle.

Hyacinth did not try to chase her, for she knew it was useless. She crumpled to her knees on the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks. The king, in typical kingly fashion, began to bark orders at various servants that stood at hand, jerking them back into reality from the spectacle that had just happened in front of their eyes. The subjects in the crowd made their own noises, some screaming in terror or in grief, while others did their best to remain composed, and to calm down those who stood beside them with soothing, ineffective words.

The thin cry of a baby seemed to drown out everything else.


	2. Chapter 2

"I will take the child," said Hyacinth.

"What?" the swollen-eyed queen pressed her daughter, still swaddled in the lace-edged christening blankets, close to her chest. "What purpose can that serve? You have already told us that your magic will do nothing to prevent the curse."

Hyacinth paused, thinking through how best to explain it to this pair of distraught parents. Away from the guests, whom had been sent forcefully out of the palace after Melanthe's disappearance, her old friends were no longer the king and queen of Dalthian. Now they were nothing but a mother and father who could not prevent the loss of their own daughter, despite how much power they had in their grasp.

She placed a cool, comforting hand on the queen's shoulder. "Elvia, please understand me. No magic is strong enough to undo what Melanthe has done. However, the best we can hope to do is avoid it by mundane means. By hiding the princess away, by making her a simple _girl_, and not a princess, she may be able to escape her fate. Such precedents have been set in the past."

Queen Elvia swallowed the sob rising in her throat. "You would take her away from us then? Our child, who we are doomed to have such a short time with as it is, you would take her away from us now?"

Hyacinth was struggling to remain composed herself, and she prevented her voice from trembling only with great effort. "It is in the hope of giving her many more years of life ahead of her, so that she might one day become Queen."

There was a shouting coming from outside, deep and vehement. The women gathered together at the window, and Elvia watched her husband, King Rafe, stride around the courtyard, barking orders at servants and men-at-arms. They could not make out his words, but he pointed at a tall, tottering tower in the middle of everything, directing his subjects to drop what they were carrying onto it.

It was a growing heap of spinning wheels, of all designs, colors, and sizes, piled together as kindling. The royal soldiers had ridden all around the kingdom with wagons, and dutiful citizens had dumped their spinning wheels into them gladly. Many of them had been at the naming ceremony themselves, and had seen Melanthe's wicked deed firsthand, and were more than happy to try and outwit her this way. Some had already burned their spinning wheels as soon as they heard the news. For those who had not, the king was going to do it for them.

All that Hyacinth could see in the great mass of spinning wheels were the deadly, needle-sharp spindles. They taunted her, and Melanthe's voice rang in her ears. She turned away from the window and walked to the other side of the room, hand over her face.

"I'm sorry, Elvia. I should have foreseen this," she whispered.

The queen did not leave her place by the window, her eyes fixed on where the bonfire was to be. The spindles held the same terror for her as they did for Hyacinth, but she did not see her failure reflected in them as her fairy companion did. "You are sure there is no other chance of saving her? A way where I might get to keep her?" The lines on her face were deepened with worry.

"No methods by which you might keep her. And this is the safest and most reliable." Hyacinth wrapped her arms around herself, unable to look at her childhood friend. She was more cognizant than ever of the unborn child she was carrying, and she knew if anyone tried to take it from her, even for safekeeping, it would be unbearable. Doing so to the person she loved best was almost as hard.

Oil was being dumped by the bucketful onto the spinning wheels, and the king had a torch in his right hand. Elvia knew he was doing all he could to keep their daughter safe, just as Hyacinth was. "I suppose I am being selfish, aren't I?" She glanced back at Hyacinth, and was struck by how her eyes were shiny with tears as she stared at the floor.

"I sought to prevent this from happening," Hyacinth said in reply, ignoring Elvia's question. Her hands returned to their place of comfort, splayed peacefully across her pregnant stomach. "I'm sorry it wasn't enough."

Elvia continued to watch her friend. "We grew up together, and since then you have always been my protectoress, although I never asked for it. You stopped the witch from killing my daughter outright, and you wish to continue shielding her from harm." There was a quick glance down at the soft blonde head on her shoulder. "There is nothing to be sorry for. I do not know how we could have made it through this ordeal without you."

"Thank you." Hyacinth paused as she thought over her next words. "I promise to raise Linnaea to the best of my ability. I have stood by you as you rule beside your husband, and I will teach her to be a queen from what you have taught me. As soon as she has reached her seventeenth birthday safely, I will return her here to you."

"No! Please, Hyacinth. You must sneak her in at least a few days before. Just so I can see her—in case—what if…I at least want to see the woman she grows into, in case you—"

"I will not fail again!" Hyacinth blazed, the first spark of life she had shown since Melanthe escaped. She softened then. "But I promise you that I will bring your daughter back to see you before her seventeenth birthday." Together they ignored the _just in case_ that had been acknowledged there.

A long silence followed between the women, punctuated by more voices from the window, where Elvia returned her gaze. More and more spinning wheels were stacked higher and higher, and no other firewood was necessary. The last few were being added to the pile, from the wagons from the farthest reaches on the kingdom, brought here in greatest haste. Several knights were now bringing in barrels, hefted on their shoulders. They looked heavy, and they were dropped without care onto the spinning wheels. More oil.

"At least my daughter will get to grow up with your child, when it is born. Like us, although under astonishingly different circumstances." What Elvia did not remark upon was the strangeness of the fairy's sudden pregnancy, how a mere three months after Linnaea's conception, Hyacinth had returned from a diplomatic trip to another country with her own baby quickening in her belly. Hyacinth never mentioned how exactly this had transpired, as she had no lover that Elvia knew of, and Hyacinth was not the type of woman to have a one-time romp with a random man. However, the fairy remained silent on the matter of the coming child's conception, and Elvia knew better than to press her.

"My child…and it wasn't enough…." Hyacinth murmured to herself. There were deep, dark circles under her gray eyes.

"I will miss having you by my side, both as a fairy, an advisor, and just a companion. It will be difficult here without you."

Hyacinth chuckled dryly. "That is one thing you must not worry about. Melanthe will let us alone now, leaving us to run around like hens that have been cooped up with a wolf. The wolf does not even have to try to cause discord; its mere presence does the trick. As long as we are in fear of the curse, and until the curse is fulfilled or thwarted, she is content to wait and watch. Dalthian will be left with as much peace as it can be, circumstances being what they are."

Princess Linnaea began to fuss and squirm in Elvia's arms, and Elvia did her best to soothe her with shushing sounds and rocking her, but still the little red face was scrunched up in near cry. "Here, you take her for now. Practice for later." Hyacinth was at her side in a mere moment with her short, silent steps, arms open and waiting. She took Linnaea gingerly, as though she was more delicate than the finest porcelain, and not a strong, robust baby. To quiet the infant, she rocked her as Elvia had, but she also crooned a pretty lullaby under her breath, in a language Elvia did not understand.

"What is that you're singing?" she asked. She watched as her daughter calmed down and her face relaxed, showing signs of falling asleep. "Some sort of baby-sleep spell?"

"I wish there was such a thing, for I will soon have two crying babies to handle, and a spell like that would give me a great advantage over them. No, it's just an old song in ancient fairy language that no one knows anymore, not even us fairies." Hyacinth let her eyes wander around the room as she continued to murmur the forgotten words softly. As one of the side rooms of the palace, used as a breakroom between receiving subjects and visitors from other nations, it was less furnished than many of the grander rooms. Still, the red carpet was vibrant and lush, and the threadbare tapestries that were hung here to be out of the way depicted beautiful settings with lavish detail. Mahogany shelves housed dozens of large, dusty books, and even though Hyacinth rarely looked inside of the books, she knew that they were laws and histories of Dalthian, written in a scholar's cramped scrawl. Candles illuminated the entire room, held in candlesticks of polished bronze. The servants never missed a room. "I'm sorry the princess will not grow up with such splendor around her. Her life will be rougher than anything you could imagine, Elvia, but millions of your people survive it year after year, and Linnaea will know nothing different."

"Her surroundings are the least of my worries. I trust you will bring her up in a suitable fashion. How will I explain her absence to everyone?"

"You mustn't tell anyone that she is no longer in the palace. She has been locked away, hidden, and I am with her, and only you and Rafe may know the location."

Elvia smiled wryly, bitterly. "But in reality, we will know nothing of the sort."

Hyacinth shook her head, and strands of dark hair loosened themselves from her bun and fell in front of her face. She pushed them back in annoyance. "The fewer who know, the better. If Melanthe realizes that the princess has been taken away, her location will be of the utmost importance to her. Those who have this knowledge will be in danger."

The queen sighed. "You have defeated me absolutely. I'm not even upset anymore, at least not at you." The redness around her eyes was fading; she had stopped crying many minutes ago. "I suppose you would've taken such a hand in her upbringing anyway, that this makes little difference. Look at you two."

Hyacinth was leaning against the wall, looking down at the baby while listening to Elvia speak. Linnaea was still in her arms, completely asleep. The fairy tucked her blankets around her more closely.

Elvia sighed again, more heavily. She rested her elbows on the window sill, and cupped her chin in her hands moodily. "We'll say goodbye soon then, I assume." Outside, the preparations were finished, and everyone except for her husband stood far away from the spinning wheels in the center of the courtyard. Rafe now sat on his battle horse, a tall chestnut stallion, with a torch in his right hand. Holding the flame high, he nudged his horse toward the spinning wheels, and dropped the torch upon them with a sort of reverence. She squinted in order to watch her husband's lips move, and she knew he was muttering a prayer and a curse simultaneously. A prayer to the gods for their daughter's life, and a curse on Melanthe, even though he possessed no fairy powers and such a curse meant nothing. He urged the horse into a gallop, joining his soldiers on the outskirts of the courtyard, as the spinning wheels erupted into a massive inferno that crackled and blazed in the type of fury that only nature has. Rafe met Elvia's eyes then, noticing her at the window. He nodded at her, grim and businesslike, and she nodded back.

_We are doing our part, and now we must allow Hyacinth to do hers, and let it all unfold_, she thought. _Our emotions do not factor into this any longer._

Through the clear pane glass of the window, the orange reflection of the fire flickered throughout the chamber, lighting up the stray tears and deep wrinkles on Elvia's face. The entire room seemed to glow. Even Hyacinth and Linnaea, in the corner of the room farthest from the window, appeared to be on fire as the image of flames danced across them, and the spinning wheels with their spindles continued to burn brightly through the night.

…..

The next morning, before the sun rose and the servants still slept, the king and queen and their court fairy stood in front of the palace, all three appearing mutually haggard and exhausted.

"At least take a horse with you," Rafe insisted. He stared at Hyacinth in concern, unbelieving of the burden she was about to take on.

"I cannot ride a horse easily in my condition, and carrying a baby in my arms as well as my stomach will make it all the more difficult. I do not want to waste magic lightly. Walking will suit us fine, until I have enough magic to teleport both Linnaea and I the rest of the way."

Elvia touched Hyacinth's elbow. "I thought your power was stronger and could restore itself more quickly now that…" She looked pointed at Hyacinth's abdomen, although it was masked in the dark cloak she wore, and the homespun dress draped her figure loosely. Hyacinth had always been partial to plain clothing, but those were nothing compared to her current peasant's costume. Fine, soft materials that nobles wore might only draw unwanted attention toward her, and it was nothing she wanted to risk while on the road.

"I am still tired from yesterday. It took more magic than you realize. Besides, teleporting mortals is a difficult skill, and a draining one," she said, averting her eyes. Even without sleep, her magic should have been restored to a level where she could execute normal spells with ease, even to teleport very far away with Linnaea. However, what the royal did not know was that Hyacinth had cast spells all throughout the night, reinforcing the protections that she had instated around the palace years ago. She would not have them fade with her absence.

"Goodbye, my daughter," Elvia said, kissing the top of Linnaea's head, then holding her out for her husband to do the same. Their eyes were remarkably dry, although Hyacinth knew their tears had been spent the night before. Elvia then gently placed Linnaea into Hyacinth's arms, trying her best to keep her face impassive.

Rafe clasped Hyacinth's shoulder familiarly. "Good luck. Let us know if you want for anything at all, for we will be sure to provide it."

"Oh, my friend!" Elvia exclaimed, throwing her arms around Hyacinth. Hyacinth managed to hold the baby with one arm, while with the other she embraced Elvia with just as much warmth. "I will miss you both so much."

"I will miss you both, as well," Hyacinth murmured. She let go of Elvia, and then Elvia relinquished her with reluctance. Without another word, she started down the long path to the palace gates. Elvia and Rafe had only each other to cling to now, as they watched their closest friend, with their only child, recede smaller and smaller into the distance.


	3. Chapter 3

"Nell! Nell! Come on! Aunt Cinth wants us!" Blonde hair flew out behind the young girl as she crashed through the woods, escaping from the kerchief it was so meticulously tucked into every morning. She ran as fast as she could amongst the trees, paying no heed to the branches that whipped her face and arms as she did so. Even though the strong winds of spring were somewhat tamer in the forest, she relished the feel of it blowing on her face and through her hair.

In between her loud footsteps and panting breath, the girl managed to hear a familiar bird whistle, and she stopped abruptly to look around, scanning the topmost branches of the trees with care. She thought she noticed a small, white form on one, trained her eyes on it, and addressed her speech in that general direction.

"I know you're up there, silly! Your mother wants us back before dark. Are you done enjoying the view yet?"

There was another short trill, and then a small nightingale leapt from the top of one of the taller oak trees and began to descend slowly, heading straight for the girl. But before the bird could perch on her outstretched finger, or on her shoulder, it morphed suddenly into another child, another girl.

"You didn't have to come get me you know, Linn," said the former bird. Her dark curls were as messy as Linn's were. "I could tell from the sun that it was getting late."

Linn ignored her. "You're getting good at that. Isn't it hard to change while flying?" She stared down at her friend. Even though Linn was only a few months older, she stood over a head higher than Nell. At only twelve years old, she was actually about the same height as her Aunt Cinth, and she still had much growing to do ahead of her.

"It is more difficult, yes. But I've been practicing." Nell's smile was quiet and satisfied, as it usually was whenever she mastered a new magical skill. "You looked like you had fun."

Looking down at herself, Linn began to laugh. There were several tears in the skirt of the black cotton dress, and despite its dark color, smears of dirt were visible. "I was climbing a tree. We can't all fly to the top of them."

"I'm sorry. I should have been there, because I would have been able to catch you before you hit the ground."

She made a face, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "You don't always have to use magic to help me out. Besides, the falling was half of the fun." Licking the palm of her hand, she started to work on rubbing out the dirt stains.

Nell bent over to peer at Linn's skirt. All it took was a brush of her fingertips and a whispered word, and the grime melted away, while the torn edges sewed themselves back together. "There, good as new."

"Thanks." Then, realizing what had just occurred, Linn frowned again and crossed her arms. "Just because I live with two fairies doesn't mean I need magic to solve my every problem. I'm a mortal, remember? I need to get used to it."

"Of course you don't!" Nell's eyes were even wider than usual, showing how appalled she was at this. "I'll always be here to help you with magic, or anything non-magical, if it comes to that."

Linn snorted and started walking back toward their cottage, purposefully avoiding the well-worn forest path, opting instead to edge through the brambles and thornbushes. Nell followed closely at her heels, having to walk faster to keep up with Linn's longer strides. "So why did you run—or fly, I should say—off earlier today?" Linn asked, making sure to keep her tone nonchalant and disinterested.

"I just needed some time to think. Being close to the sky helps."

"Aunt Cinth is right about you, you know. Fairies ought to be more human than bird, and your balance of the two is too off for our comfort."

Nell flushed and stayed silent. Myth held that fairies were descended from an ancient species of giant bird, one that was capable of magical feats, but that as their blood gradually intermingled with that of humans, the modern-day type of fairies were born. As little as two hundred years ago, fairies still had wings, but more breeding with humans had efficiently eliminated those, too. Other than her diminutive size, Nell's mother, Hyacinth, had the body of a full-blooded human on most occasions, as most fairies did. It always left Nell embarrassed of her own appearance, which was much more birdlike. Her eyes were large and wide set, although they were her mother's exact shade of gray, and her nose was small and pointed. In general, her body was too small and insubstantial to seem anything but frail, despite her good health, and Hyacinth told her it was the bird in her, because birds' bones needed to be so light in order for them to fly. In accordance with this, Nell's shoulder blades jutted out sharply from the rest of her back, giving the suggestion that wings should have been growing there. Of course, there were not wings, and there never were unless she had transformed. She was also always sure to keep her voice low and calm, because when excited, her voice was high and whistling, and when upset, it tended to be shrill.

Linn laid a hand on her friend's shoulder, all thoughts of trying to investigate what Nell needed to contemplate so much utterly forgotten. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I know how much you hate it."

Nell shrugged her hand off. "It's okay. I know you meant nothing by it." She continued walking at her hurried pace.

But Linn had stopped moving, biting the bottom of her lip in worry, feeling wretched. She knew it was Nell's odd looks that kept her out of the village near their cottage, only visiting the other children there when Linn was with her. And since Aunt Cinth preferred keeping Linn away from other people, Nell stayed away, too. At one time, Linn had liked this better, knowing that Nell would always be there to keep her company, but when Linn learned the reason why Nell insisted on remaining home with her, she had longed for nothing more than to rub the faces of the village children into the dirt. And if Aunt Cinth ever allowed her to see them, she most likely would have.

Now she was running to keep up with Nell, although not for very long. She was nimble, and it was a matter of moments before she was again at her side.

"At least you can fly, you know. Even many powerful fairies cannot transform into birds. And you were born with that power!"

"I know. So Mother has told me many times," Nell gently reminded her, chuckling, and Linn knew she had successfully cheered her up. All fairies, even the weakest ones, could transform into an animal, though the type of animal was out of their control, something that was in their blood. Birds were extremely rare though, Hyacinth continually told her daughter, and even strong fairies who dedicated their prowess to practicing and broadening their transformative skills found it difficult and exhausting to turn into a bird. Nell always prized her talent, particularly the flight that came with it, even if it caused her human appearance to be slightly strange.

Still, even though Nell seemed to have forgotten Linn's careless comment, Linn could tell there was more.

"Something else is bothering you, isn't it?"

Nell did not look at her, instead focusing her gaze on the rows of flowers that lined the path--Nell had led them back to the path when she hustled ahead, Linn realized--they walked. She had planted them not long ago, and, under a fairy's care, the tulips, lilies, and daffodils were thriving. "There is something," Nell said, careful not to lie to her closest friend, "But it is nothing I wish to concern you with at this time."

Leave me alone about it, and maybe I'll tell you if I feel like it, Linn took that to mean, although Nell of course would never state anything so coarsely. "Fine," she sighed, although moments later her face brightened as a mixed smell of cinnamon and fresh fruit wafted towards them. "Do you smell that?"

A matching smile crossed Nell's face. "Yes. Mother's apple pie is my favorite."

"Race you the rest of the way?"

Nell nodded, and then took off as fast as she could without another word. It was how they always raced: Nell with a head start, which Linn perfectly timed so that they would arrive at the same time. Before Linn's growth spurt, they were able to tie without Nell needing the head start, but now that seemed like a very long time ago.

.....

The sun set, and the apple pie was nothing but crumbs in its dented iron dish. Both girls sat on the wooden floor in front of the hearth, where a small fire was warming the room. The straw-thatched cottage had three rooms: the kitchen and living area, where the cooking, sewing, and primary time-spending was done, and two rooms for sleeping, bare except for the beds. The fireplace was in the kitchen, and it doubled as a stove whenever Hyacinth cooked. Her rocking chair was eternally in front of it, and here she spent her evenings, both summer and winter. One of Linn's dresses was in her hands; for what seemed like the hundredth time, she was letting out the hem to make it longer for her ever-expanding height. The girls watched her attentively, although each of them was supposed to be doing sewing of her own. Despite having known her from birth, neither of them ever failed to be awed by her. Everything about her strove to be quiet and unnoticed, and Nell took after her in this regard, but her very efficiency and modesty gave her a sort of presence all her own in the tiny cottage. Her gowns were simple, but there was never a wrinkle, and no hair was ever out of place from her severely pulled back style.

"Why don't you ever use magic to lengthen my dresses?" Linn asked Hyacinth, breaking the silence of the room.

Hyacinth did not even need to stop her sewing as she spoke. "I have always enjoyed the peacefulness of sewing, embroidering, and the like. The mundanity of it is much different from the unpredictability of magic, and I like the contrast in the way it makes my mind concentrate. And yet, one is good practice for the other." Now she focused most of her attention on her daughter. "As you weave a spell, imagine it as a series of stitches. Magic is rarely anything out of thin air. You must use something given to you, something rough and useless, and transform it into something helpful. Just as yarn is woven into fabric, and fabric into clothing, or a blanket."

Nell nodded seriously and resumed her knitting of a sock, while Linn just yawned and said, "Maybe I would like sewing more if I was a fairy."

"But you're so skilled at it," said Nell.

It was true. Even when Aunt Cinth was just teaching her the simplest of stitches, she had never made any mistakes, or had to wear a thimble to make sure she did not prick her finger. From her very first, every turn of the needle was perfect. "But it's boring. I'd much rather be doing something outside." She stared longingly out of the window.

"Not after dark," said Aunt Cinth, in clipped tones.

"Is it true that once Dalthian was able to make its own string? That we didn't have to buy it from all the way across the sea?" Nell asked suddenly, eyes unnaturally bright with curiosity.

Hyacinth eyed her daughter with suspicion. She rarely asked questions; that was Linn's duty. In particular, she never asked questions of such a sensitive nature.

"We were once able to, many years ago."

"Did we stop because of--"

"Yes." Hyacinth's lips were pursed, a sure sign of displeasure, but Nell pressed forward.

"Oh, Mother, will you please tell the story? You know it's my favorite," Nell pleaded.

Hyacinth looked between the two girls and relaxed. On Nell's face, there was her usual restrained excitement. She loved the tales of princesses and royalty, especially this one so close to home. However, Linn was frowning, as she would rather hear a story of valor and knights and dragons. Hyacinth was calmed by her lack of interest, but not enough so to tell the story she knew so well.

"Not tonight. Besides, it is late, and we must rise early tomorrow to go to town."

Now the girls had traded expressions, and it was Linn who was excited and Nell frowning.

"Do we really get to go as well?" Linn asked.

"Yes, although you must stay close to my side at all times." Hyacinth fought back a pleased smile at how happy this made the girl, for she knew how much it hurt her daughter. Though it seemed she had little to worry about on this front.

Linn threw her arm around Nell's shoulder and pulled her close. "Don't look so sad, please. It will be fun, and I'll be there, and there won't be anything to worry about."

Nell's face was still drawn, but at least she was less pale now.

"Let's go to bed now." Linn stood up and dragged her friend to her feet with her. "Good night, Aunt Cinth!" she called behind them as she pulled Nell off to bed. "Make sure you don't forget to wake us!"

"Sweet dreams girls," Hyacinth murmured to them quietly, and Nell's face again paled.

.....

Nell waited until she heard Linn's soft snores beside her before she crept out of the bed they shared and snuck into the kitchen. As she expected, her mother was still there in her rocking chair, glowing from the light of the dying fire. She was sure she had never actually witnessed her mother sleeping.

"What's troubling you dear?" Hyacinth asked, recognizing her daughter's presence even though the chair did not face the bedroom door.

Nell walked around the chair to sit at her mother's feet, settling her nightgown around her legs with care. "Recently I've been having these strange dreams..." she began hesitantly.

"How recently?"

"Every night for the past fortnight." Nell knew what her mother was getting at.

"And does it keep within the bounds of reality? Does it involve something or someone important to you?"

"...Yes."

"Then it is indeed a vision. I knew it would come out in you sooner or later." Hyacinth set her sewing down in her lap and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Describe it to me."

"I--I don't think you'll believe it, once I tell you."

"With how desolate you look right now, Niele, I can do naught but take you seriously," she said, using her daughter's full name. Nell was just what Linn had christened her, long ago when they were first learning to speak. Linn had just always gone by Linn.

Nell closed her eyes then, to better envision it in her mind, although it was unlikely she would forget any detail of it as long as she lived. "There's a beautiful woman. Tall, slender, blonde..."

"Linn."

"Y--yes. She is in a round stone room, and there is nothing else. I've followed her there, screaming her name, but she can't hear me. Then, suddenly, there is another woman there, although Linn doesn't see her. Linn doesn't seem to see anything at all. The new woman is beautiful and terrifying all at once, surrounded by dark magic. She disappears, but she's left a--I believe it is a spinning wheel, although I've never seen one, because it is round like a wheel on a carriage. Linn walks toward it, hand outstretched, and I try to run in front of her but it's too late. Linn pricks her finger on the spindle, but instead of just pricking her finger and bleeding, she falls to the ground and dies." Nell's voice was choked up by the end of her speech. She opened her eyes to look at her mother. "What is this?" she whispered, no longer a seer but a young girl.

"You know what it is. You have known for the past fortnight."

"Then that means that..."

"Linn is short for Linnaea, yes. You know the story. Everyone in the kingdom knows the story. And you will tell her nothing of it. I will brew you a potion tomorrow morning before she wakes. It will keep you from becoming hysterical now that you know the truth."

"There were so many clues. I should have guessed it earlier," Nell said in wonder. "But why the vision? She must be safe here, right? That's why she's here, for safety. How did you get her anyway?" Her mind was full of more questions than she could express.

"It is a long story, much longer than the version you know, and I am not up to telling it tonight. Hearing your vision alone is more than my old bones can take." Hyacinth shifted in the chair, and it creaked uncomfortably. She touched her forehead as if it was in extreme pain. "This changes everything," she muttered.

"What?" Nell was fearful of what her mother meant.

"I have not taught you enough about visions, it seems, or you would know. A fairy's vision is something that is fated to happen and cannot be stopped."

"But they can be prevented," Nell said slowly, and in some confusion. Focusing on the lesson at hand helped to lessen the shock of what she had just learned.

"Visions are fated to happen if one continues on the course they are on. If plans are changed, and with abruptness, the destiny can be averted. Can you work it out? Magic is more than spells and potions."

"If we keep hiding Linn, but we do nothing else to avoid the curse then..." Nell knew what came next; it just hurt too much to say.

"The curse will come to fruition," Hyacinth finished grimly. "Your vision has helped us, believe it or not. We now know that we must do more. What I have done simply will not suffice."

Hyacinth's words, tough and businesslike, meant nothing to Nell now. She started to cry pitifully at the thought of losing her best friend, and whether she was a princess or not didn't matter at the moment. She rubbed the tears away from her eyes, trying to be as dry-eyed and strong as her mother seemed. Bu Hyacinth knew better. She tugged her daughter onto her lap and let her sit there and cry onto her shoulder just as she did when she was a baby. They both needed the comfort now.

In the next room over, the Princess Linnaea snored on, oblivious to her fate and those who fretted themselves over it.


End file.
